Of Spice and Men

by Sarah Fox

  Max returned his attention to the newspaper as if nothing had happened, and the makeup artist smiled at Sienna, who’d arrived at her table with plates of waffles and crêpes. After what I’d witnessed, I didn’t doubt that the two diners knew each other somehow. But if Max was a tourist and the makeup artist was here for work, had they both ended up in Wildwood Cove at the same time by coincidence? If so, why not greet each other openly?

  I was curious about what I’d seen, but I didn’t have time to mull it over further. I had two freshly prepared meals to deliver, and once I’d taken them to waiting customers, Sienna called me over to the table where the makeup artists sat with their colleagues.

  “This is Marley, The Flip Side’s owner,” Sienna said to introduce me.

  Then she told me the names of the four at the table. The special-effects makeup artist was Christine, and her turquoise-haired assistant was Nicola. Also at the table was a plump woman with black-framed glasses and chin-length dark hair with blunt bangs cut across her forehead.

  “Debbie is with the wardrobe department,” Sienna told me with a nod at the woman. She then indicated the only man at the table. “And Del is a gaffer.”

  I didn’t know what a gaffer was, exactly, but I didn’t think it mattered. “Welcome to Wildwood Cove,” I said to all of them.

  “We wanted to tell you that you’ve got a great place here,” Christine said, her companions nodding in agreement.

  “And the food’s fantastic,” Nicola added.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” I said.

  “Christine and Nicola were telling me about their work. It sounds so cool,” Sienna enthused.

  Christine smiled. “If you want, you could come by our trailer later and we could show you a bit more of what we do.”

  Sienna’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Sure.”

  “Wow. I’d love that.”

  “You’re welcome to come, too, Marley,” Christine offered.

  “That sounds great,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “Maybe around seven?” Christine suggested. “We’ve got the second-to-last trailer to the east.”

  Sienna was practically bubbling over with excitement. “We’ll be there.”

  I confirmed Sienna’s statement and thanked Christine again for the invitation before I moved on to another table. Although not as wildly excited as Sienna, I was curious to find out more about the artists’ work. I had no desire to give up The Flip Side to pursue a career in the entertainment industry, but I was interested to know what the women did behind the scenes of the movies they worked on.

  The lunch rush had hit full throttle and I stayed busy for the next while, helping out Leigh and Sienna with taking orders, serving dishes, and cleaning up after departing diners. Every now and then I cast quick glances at Max and Christine, but I didn’t notice anything else pass between them. When Christine and her fellow crew members paid for their meals and left, there was again no indication that she knew Max, and he didn’t so much as look up from the newspaper he was still reading as he munched his way through a plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacon.

  I shrugged it off, figuring I’d never know what was behind the look the two had exchanged, and it wasn’t long before Max had finished his meal and left the pancake house. As far as I was aware, no one else connected to the film production came in to eat during the last hour that The Flip Side was open for business. I spent some of that time in the office working on the computer, but I figured Sienna would have told me if I’d missed out on any out-of-the-ordinary patrons.

  After closing up the pancake house at two o’clock, I said goodbye to Leigh and Sienna, promising the teenager that I’d meet up with her that evening so we could walk over to Christine and Nicola’s trailer together. I’d never seen Sienna so thrilled about anything, and I was glad she was enjoying the experience of having the production in town.

  By the time I left the restaurant for the day, the rain had stopped, although the gray clouds still lingered. I’d walked to work that morning—as I did almost every day—and I was glad that my trip home would be drier than my early-morning jaunt.

  Since I needed to make a stop at the local bank, I headed into the heart of Wildwood Cove, rather than taking the beach route home. My banking business took only a few minutes, and the remainder of the afternoon stretched ahead of me, free for whatever I wanted to do.

  Although I’d be going that way in the evening, I decided to take a bit of a detour on my way home so I could walk through the neighborhood where much of the filming would be taking place. Curious to see if anything was going on, I walked south along Main Street and then turned left, leaving Wildwood Cove’s small commercial center for a residential neighborhood with tree-lined streets and tidy lawns. I soon reached Shady Lane and followed it as it curved gently northward. The houses on this road were set well apart from each other and practically oozed Victorian charm.

  When I neared the Abbott house, I noticed a few people milling about in the front yard, one holding a clipboard and another talking on a cellphone. The front door stood open and I could see people moving about inside as well. A truck full of equipment, its back doors open, sat parked at the curb, and the entire scene had a busy energy to it.

  The Abbott house wasn’t the prettiest one on the street, mostly because of its color scheme of dark yellow with rust-red trim. But with tall evergreens on both sides of the Victorian casting plenty of shadows, it did have a spooky air about it. It wasn’t as eerie as the abandoned—and supposedly haunted—Victorian one street over that I’d passed a few times while out running, but that house was probably too run-down to fit the movie’s needs.

  I didn’t plan to stop at the Abbott house since there didn’t seem to be anything of particular interest going on at the moment. However, as I passed by the house, a man’s angry voice rang out from inside. He let loose a string of colorful curses and then yelled more words that I couldn’t make out.

  “The director,” another man’s voice said, this one much closer to me.

  I turned quickly toward its source. A lean man dressed in worn jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap stood near the front of the truck, smoking a cigarette. His posture was relaxed and casual, clearly unaffected by the shouting still going on inside the house.

  “Don’t worry,” he said with half a grin. “He’s just keeping everyone in line.” He shrugged and grinned again. “A day in the life. Glamorous, huh?”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that, but he didn’t seem to be expecting me to say anything.

  He dropped his cigarette onto the road and crushed it beneath the toe of his boot before heading toward the back of the truck, his pace unhurried. A short man with unruly dark hair sticking out in all directions stormed out onto the front porch of the Abbotts’ house.

  “You do all know that we start filming in the morning, right?” he shouted to the world at large. “As in tomorrow morning!”

  Everyone in the front yard ignored him and continued doing whatever they’d been doing before. The angry man—who I assumed was the film’s director, Vince Aconi—put a cellphone to his ear and stomped back into the house.

  Deciding I’d seen enough of that show, I continued on my way, occasionally passing a crew member or two making their way back and forth between the Abbott house and Wildwood Road, where a long line of trailers had been parked. As I turned onto Wildwood Road to follow it home, I kept watch for any familiar faces, knowing Sienna would be excited if I could report to her later that I’d seen one of the actors.

  Although I passed a few more people, I didn’t see anyone familiar until I was almost at the end of the line of trailers. I caught sight of a head of spiky, platinum-blond hair and recognized Christine, the special-effects makeup artist. She was standing by the curb near the last trailer, her back to me, clearly in conversation with someone. As I drew closer, I was hit with another flash of recognition. The person speaking with Christine was none other than actor Chase Lowman. />
  Even though I had known he was in town, it took a second or two for my mind to truly register the fact that he was there in the flesh. It didn’t take nearly that long for me to realize that Chloe was right—Chase was even better looking in person than he was on the silver screen. His wavy brown hair was stylishly tousled and the snug T-shirt he wore with his jeans showed off his toned physique.

  My attention didn’t stay on Chase’s looks for long, though. As soon as I was close enough to hear what he and Christine were saying, that’s where my attention focused.

  “I might not be George Clooney, but don’t think I can’t burn your whole career down to a pile of ashes.” The rancor in Chase’s voice startled me.

  Christine matched his enmity with her next words. “Don’t threaten me, Chase.”

  She turned on her heel and stormed away from the actor. She passed within a few feet of me but didn’t so much as glance my way. I wasn’t sure if she was even aware of my presence. Dark anger clouded her face, and she stormed toward a nearby trailer, slamming the door behind her.

  I’d slowed almost to a stop upon realizing that the two of them were arguing, and I now came to a complete standstill. Chase had disappeared while my attention had been focused on Christine, and I figured that was probably a good thing. He’d seemed so intensely angry that it might not have been pleasant if he’d realized I overheard what he said to Christine.

  I turned around in a slow circle, but there was no longer anyone in sight. Christine hadn’t reemerged from her trailer and all I could hear was the engine of a passing car. I continued along my path home, thinking about all I’d witnessed in the last few minutes. Working as a cast or crew member on the remake of The Perishing didn’t seem like an enviable job to me. If his behavior at the Abbott house was any indication, the director couldn’t be easy to get along with, and clearly the rest of the crew and cast didn’t make up one big happy family.

  Why Chase Lowman had threatened the makeup artist, I had absolutely no idea. But as his words replayed in my head—the animosity behind them unforgettable—a chilling shiver crept its way up my spine.

  Chapter 3

  A few minutes later I reached the blue-and-white Victorian I’d inherited from my grandmother’s cousin. I never tired of the sight of the rambling house, and it was always nice to arrive home to the Victorian’s charm and coziness, the gingerbread trim, tower, and covered porches giving it plenty of character. Although its interior was somewhat outdated, I couldn’t have asked for a better house to call my own.

  As soon as I’d unlocked and opened the front door, my cat, Flapjack, greeted me with a meow. I kicked off my sneakers, the motion made difficult by the figure eights Flapjack was winding around my legs, purring as he rubbed up against me.

  “Did you miss me, Jack?” I asked as I scooped the orange tabby into my arms.

  His purring intensified as I hugged him close and buried my face in his sleek fur.

  “I bet you couldn’t care less about a film production coming to town, right?” I said as I carried him down the hall toward the kitchen at the back of the house.

  He kept purring as I set him down on the kitchen floor.

  “I think it’s exciting,” I said as he trotted over to the cupboard where his food was kept, sitting down and giving me a pointed look.

  Being a well-trained human, I opened the cupboard and retrieved a package of cat treats.

  “But I’m not too sure what to think about the people involved,” I confessed as I shook a few treats into Flapjack’s food dish.

  The tabby’s purring revved up again as he set about devouring the treats.

  I returned the package to the cupboard and filled the electric kettle with water, planning to treat myself to a mug of hot chocolate.

  “Oh, shoot,” I said, stopping myself right before I switched the kettle on. “I forgot to pick up the mail.”

  I looked down at Flapjack where he sat on the floor, watching me with his amber eyes now that he’d finished off his snack. I wasn’t expecting any important mail, but I hadn’t checked my mailbox for three days and decided I’d better do so. After digging my keys out of my tote bag, I headed for the front door.

  “Want to spend some time outside?” I asked Flapjack, noting that he’d followed me.

  I opened the door and he sauntered out, pausing on the front porch to sniff the air.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” I told him, as he sat down at the top of the steps.

  I left him there and retraced the path I’d taken along the driveway minutes before. When I reached Wildwood Road, I turned away from town and walked the short distance to a cluster of four mailboxes. As I arrived at my destination, a silver BMW approached from the east, slowing down and pulling over to the side of the road. I recognized the driver as my next-door neighbor, Gerald Teeves, before he climbed out of the vehicle.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Teeves,” I said as I reached into my mailbox and withdrew a small pile of envelopes.

  “Ms. McKinney,” Mr. Teeves returned without much warmth.

  I hadn’t expected anything different from him, and my own greeting hadn’t exactly been all warm and fuzzy. Following my cousin Jimmy’s death back in the early spring, Teeves had descended like a vulture, trying to get his talons into the property Jimmy had left to me, no doubt so he could tear down the beautiful Victorian and replace it with an eyesore like his glass-and-steel house.

  “How’s Logan doing these days?” I asked, deciding that was a safe way to make polite conversation. Logan was Teeves’s teenage son and Sienna’s former boyfriend. “I haven’t seen him around recently.”

  “That’s because he’s moved to Portland to live with his mother.” Teeves grabbed a pile of mail from his box and slammed it shut. He gave me a curt nod and climbed back into his BMW, pulling onto the road a second later.

  I watched as he turned in to his driveway and disappeared behind a screen of tall fir trees. I figured Teeves only put effort into being friendly if he thought it would benefit him somehow. He’d certainly been more talkative when he’d offered to buy my inherited property.

  Heading back home, I thanked my lucky stars that I didn’t have to interact with Gerald Teeves too often. Although he lived right next door to me, our properties were both fairly spacious, and thanks to a fence and tall trees, I couldn’t see much of his house from mine.

  Despite my low opinion of Gerald Teeves, my feelings were a little kinder for his son. Although the teenager had caused some problems for The Flip Side in the past, he’d done so at his father’s behest, and I didn’t hold a grudge against him. It was no wonder I hadn’t seen him around lately, though, if he’d moved to Portland. I wondered if Logan had instigated the move, preferring not to live with his father anymore. I didn’t really know what their relationship was like, but I imagined Gerald wasn’t the easiest person to live with.

  Flapjack had left the front porch to prowl around the yard looking for bugs and other critters to pounce on. I didn’t interrupt him, knowing he’d show up at the French doors around the back of the house when he wanted to come inside. He never strayed far from the house, and I figured he’d want his dinner before too long.

  Deciding it was too close to my own dinnertime to indulge in hot chocolate, I rummaged around in the fridge and cupboards until I had all the ingredients I needed to make a vegetable curry. I chopped and sliced, and soon had the aromatic mixture simmering away on the stove. I put some rice in the rice cooker to go along with the curry, and then retreated to the couch to wait for everything to cook. I’d barely sat down when Flapjack appeared at the French doors, peering through the glass at me.

  I let him in and put out his dinner before once again settling on the couch. I scrolled through my Instagram feed and then sent a text message to my boyfriend, Brett Collins, telling him about my plans with Sienna that evening and asking him how his day had gone. After I’d finished eating my dinner, I checked my phone, but Brett hadn’t texted me back. I washed my di
shes and cleaned up the kitchen, but I still hadn’t received any messages by the time I was done.

  That probably meant he was busy, though there was always the possibility that he simply hadn’t checked his phone lately. He had the day off from his lawn- and garden-care business, but maybe he was running errands or working in his own yard. I missed him, so I decided to try phoning him, but that didn’t get any response either. He’d get in touch with me when he could, I knew, so I gave up for the time being and tucked my phone into the pocket of my jeans.

  Having eaten his dinner and washed his face, Flapjack was now snoozing on the couch where I’d been sitting earlier. I gave him a quick scratch on the head—getting no acknowledgment—and grabbed my keys, heading for the front door. On my way past the foyer closet, I paused to pull on a light jacket, knowing the evening would grow cooler with every passing hour and that there was a chance of more rain. I was glad of the extra layer as soon as I stepped outside. A wind had come up since I’d arrived home, carrying a touch of a damp chill with it.

  While still on the front porch, I sent a quick text message to Sienna, letting her know that I was ready to go. She replied mere seconds later, telling me that she was already on her way. When I reached the end of the driveway, I saw her walking along Wildwood Road in my direction. She broke into a jog until she reached my side, and together we walked toward town.